A Piece of Me
by HetaWriter - HetaReader
Summary: On his way, Antonio recalls the days when his best friend Arthur was a strong, proud and stubborn boy whose love for the piano, evident as Roderich's, was caused by his grandfather. With the blonde now a mess, will he ever play again? Antonio sure hopes so. Rated T for some colourful words here and there. First story online.


The day was weary and sluggishly dragged on, much like Antonio himself as he continued trudging down the path. He pulled his scarf, which adorned the colours of the flag of his beloved home country, further up his face and quickly placed his hands back into the pockets of his black overcoat.

He could easily make his way to and from work; he didn't need to catch a bus or require the use of his car – walking was just fine with him.

Plus, it helped him save up money, and saving money was a wonderful thing.

'_I'm starting to sound like Vash…'_ the Spaniard couldn't help the chuckle as he recalled the big brother to one of the students he was teaching. They looked so alike; it wasn't funny, except for Vash looking much sharper and stricter than his lovely and soft little sister.

It especially wasn't funny when Vash suddenly pulled out a rifle from out of thin air and pointed it right at Antonio's nose when the Spaniard was giving Erika some candy.

Antonio shuddered at the memory, shaking his head as he continued down the rocky path – a fellow teacher named Sadik had seen this and immediately placed his nose in the whole affair. The result of that was a wrestling match between the Swiss man and Turkish teacher with Antonio's leg somehow caught in the middle.

The Spaniard swore his leg was stretched out a few centimetres longer than the other one after that incident. Soon, the thought of Vash immediately led him to his little sister, Erika.

She was a sweet little girl, very shy though. Funnily enough, she got along better with Antonio's high-school cousin Lovino, rather than with other children her own age. It shocked Antonio greatly when he saw his Italian cousin sit with the petite blonde girl and the two were actually having a pleasant conversation. Lovino even _drank tea _with her.

Of course, when Antonio commented on how adorable the scene was, his poor face wasn't spared this time. Lovino slugged him right there, hard, with a loud screech of his infamous, _'CHIGI!'_

A loud bout of profane words soon followed.

When Antonio had protested that Lovino was swearing in front of children, the pair had turned their gazes to Erika. The blonde girl actually looked slightly frightened at the two. Lovino immediately started apologizing as soon and as quickly as possible, realizing that he had embarrassed himself in front of a bunch of parents and their children as well.

He grew even redder when a little boy asked his mother, "Mommy, what does fuck mean?"

Surprisingly enough, that wasn't the reason why Erika looked scared. No, it was actually because Antonio's face was getting beaten rather severely. The Spaniard inwardly cooed and squealed at such an adorable notion from the little blonde girl that he almost didn't hear Lovino question as to why Erika didn't mind him swearing.

"Oh, it's because big _bruder _does it all the time whenever he sees Mr. Roderich or when he loses his money."

Antonio was sorely tempted to recommend the school's busty counsellor to have a session with Erika's big brother, but since he didn't want his face to have holes in it (or any other part of his body, thank you very much), he simply told Erika that she should tell Vash off whenever he swore because it wasn't a good thing to do. Especially because Erika was a growing lady.

The little girl seemed fine with that – she learned the words weren't good from looking in a dictionary and exposure to American movies.

Gotta love American movies.

Now, here he was, going to a place before returning home. It wasn't a hard path to go to his destination – just take the right fork down the road and it would lead him there. The left fork took him home.

The day's cloudy grey atmosphere and cold tone didn't help the Spaniard's mood though and even he felt rather down and tired. Nonetheless, he continued along the way.

An icy breeze suddenly picked up and Antonio could feel the wind slap his cheeks. His once tanned face now lost its exotic hue in this cold, cruel weather.

He stopped when he saw a tree.

This great tree on his path was an old oak, towering over the Spaniard, completely covering him from what little sunlight shone through the grey clouds. The leaves were mottled and deep green while the trunk was thick. The branches were sturdy and strong.

Antonio gazed the tree up and down and a small smile started to spread on his face. As his stare lingered on the tree, he began seeing things that happened long ago.

Soon, the cold was gone and the miserable day had melted into a much warmer one, albeit one that happened years ago. Memories were starting to play in his mind like a roll of film in a cinema and they were all flashing in his head, performing right before his eyes.

There was the sound of children's laughter and Antonio could see two children, both around age seven, running around the tree, chasing each other. Eventually, the two children stopped and sat under the shade of the oak tree; it was smaller than it was now, but still big enough to block out the sun's rays from striking the two boys.

One of the children, a brunette with big eyes and wearing a shirt that was many sizes too big for him, poked his friend, "Hey! _Arturo_! _Arturo_!"

The other child, a blonde with bushy eyebrows and wearing a cloak, sniffed, "Wot?"

"Play me something when we go to your house!" the brunette child said excitedly. "I wanna hear you play! My mama says you're as good as Roderich and that's saying something!"

The blonde suddenly flushed – his pale complexion now a bright scarlet. He twiddled his stubby little fingers and murmured, "A-are…are you serious? But…I'm not even that good! No! I'm not!"

The bouncy brunette child shook his head, "I still wanna hear you play! Please?" he suddenly gave the blonde boy his infamous puppy eyes. "Please, _mi amigo_?"

"No!"

"Please?

"No! I already told you! I won't!"

"_Por favor_?"

"At least speak English, you daft twit!"

"Please?"

"Fine! You sodding git! I'll play you a piece, but it won't be good! Not good at all! Nothing like Roderich's! But even then, the only one who you _should _hear is my grandpa! He's better than Roderich!"

"_Abuelo_?" the little brunette was beaming. "I wanna meet him! I wanna meet your _abuelo_!"

"Fine! Fine! Stop jumping already! You're hurting my hand!"

The laughter soon faded away and Antonio was back in the present. The Spaniard now had a soft smile on his face, his eyes shining from the memory of the two children underneath the now great oak tree. Again, he continued along the path.

As he continued on though, more memories flashed in his head, still playing. It was as if Antonio were in the movie theatre. Literally, this was becoming a walk down memory lane.

The two boys were now a bit older, about nine, and they were in a house with an old man. This old man was sitting at the piano with the blonde boy beside him. The brunette was sitting on a stuffy couch while listening to the senior play.

The old man cracked his knuckles before he started playing. The sound of popping bones made Antonio flinch – he never did like hearing that. Nonetheless, the Spaniard listened to the music that played soon after.

The song started with a single piano note, like a soft flutter from a butterfly's wing. It was soon followed by a myriad of notes that shimmered, equally soft and fluttering, as if a whole group of butterflies were dancing in the air around them. Antonio smiled and shut his eyes, letting the music capture his ears and take him to another world.

Suddenly, the soft piano was increased to a mezzo forte from the ascent of crescendo. The notes were prouder and more defined, as if marching like a general who had successfully come home from a battle fought hard and ultimately won. All too soon, the softness returned and the piano's music was hovering again.

Then the two mixed together – the proud and the soft. Though they were both different, they somehow blended well. The soft melody with the proud harmony…it almost sounded like a couple in a dance – a strong, towering man with a short and sweet woman as his partner.

Only…the woman was taking the lead.

And soon, the pace of the dance picked up – it changed from legato to a more moderato tempo and finally, there was a great allegro rush before a pause. Then finally, a last shimmer of notes that ended on a ritardando pace and the imaginative couple Antonio had thought of stopped dancing.

The fingers that had magically produced the wonderful music were old and thin, worn by the years, but they still worked very well against the piano's smooth surface. Antonio smiled at seeing the blonde boy beside the old man, giving a smile at him.

"Grandpa…that was beautiful…" the blonde boy breathed, eyes shining with adoration.

The old man gave a smile as he ruffled the blonde boy's messy locks, "Thank you, Arthur, my dear lad…thank you…"

And since that day, Arthur strived to learn that very piece. It was a very challenging one to say the least. Everyday, after finishing his homework, Arthur would clamber up to the piano and start practicing. However, the notes, terms and counting all combined threw off the blonde many times and during those times; Arthur would swear and hiss in frustration.

Antonio was greatly amused at watching his British friend throw those fits. There was this one instance when both of them were eleven; Arthur was ready to give up. "Don't worry, _mi amigo_, I know you'll get it soon enough," he couldn't help but grin after Arthur banged his head on the piano's surface.

The blonde glared at the Spaniard; he knew that smile was mocking him. He snorted, "Shut up, you git…this won't work! I've tried this so many times and yet…" he suddenly looked at the ivory keys and stroked one. "I keep failing…I should just give up, huh?"

Antonio frowned at seeing the British boy's now forlorn expression, "Why give up? You're still practicing! Practice makes perfect! Besides…we can't just have _one _pianist, no?" he came to Arthur's side and this time, gave a sincere smile. "Roderich shouldn't have all the glory to himself – Arthur Kirkland should reveal to the world he is _muy bueno _in playing the piano!"

"He is right there, lad."

Arthur's grandfather then walked into the room. The old man was definitely getting on in years – he was shaky and he now required a cane to walk properly. Nonetheless, his playing was still amazing, however there were occasions when his fingers slipped and he would accidentally hit a wrong note. Despite that, the old man would continue to play until he reached the end of the piece, to which his hands were now quivering and he was slightly out of breath.

Arthur's grandfather took one of his (Arthur's) hands in his own calloused ones. "You will get much better as you keep on practicing," the old man smiled at his grandson. These words made Arthur feel much better and he continued to play and practice. Eventually, he finally mastered the piece and so forth, was able to perform it in front of his grandfather.

Needless to say, it was a success and the old man was tremendously proud of the blonde. Arthur's smile was bright and big, shocking Antonio into oblivion as the blonde's face wasn't usually associated with smiling.

Arthur soon began to fall in love with the piano, his respect growing larger and soon, he spent a great deal of time with it. If he wasn't reading books on magic or writing something about mint bunnies and unicorns down, he was found at the piano, his fingers flowing along the instrument's surface, stroking its keys as the sounds of the most beautiful melodies haunted Antonio's mind.

Of course, as Antonio and Arthur grew older, stronger and experienced, Arthur's grandfather became frailer, weaker and much softer. Of course, Arthur worried about him and did as much as he could to make the old man's life easier – he brought him his food to his bed (Antonio insisted on cooking – the British boy couldn't cook to save his life) and he would lead him gently around and place anything away in the old man's path.

When Arthur and Antonio were in high school, they were still friends, but Arthur was never part of the '_in_' crowd like Antonio was. The Spaniard was good at soccer – their star striker – and a bright and charming person overall; he easily made friends with everyone around him. Arthur on the other hand, was cynical and much more reserved; he was more distrustful to people and usually wore a scowl on his face. He was described as uptight and too much of a stickler to the rules.

Antonio had made good friends with the school's delinquent, proud Prussian and self-proclaimed _"King of Awesomenes_s" Gilbert Beilschmidt, as well as the exchange student from France, Francis Bonnefoy. The three soon formed a group called the _"Bad Touch Trio"_ and Antonio began to spend less time with Arthur in favour of the other two.

The British boy was irritated to say the least and when Antonio _did _remember to come and see him, the blonde would try to suppress his anger (though he called him a bunch of things a good many times). Nonetheless, Antonio would remember and come back; the Spaniard knew better than to just abandon the friend he made since childhood and besides, he would miss hearing Arthur play, too.

However, there came a day when Arthur was able to audition to play for an opera that would guarantee a boost in the blonde's career. Of course, he told Antonio all about it and expressed his worries of screwing up a note. Antonio insisted that he would come and watch him play so he didn't have to worry. Arthur had simply responded, "Whatever, you daft git. I'll be just fine then! But, you'll still come…right?"

Antonio flashed his usual sunlit grin, "But of course!"

Unfortunately, as the days wore on, Antonio was so busy with soccer practice, homework and the antics of his best friends as well as some parties that he was invited to, he eventually forgot about Arthur's audition. Instead, he had gone to a party with Francis and Gilbert; he even met a Belgian girl that looked really nice.

Arthur had insisted for his grandfather to stay home – he needed to conserve his strength. However, the old man refused and stubbornly came along to watch. It was a good thing though, since Antonio didn't come.

Though he was comforted with his grandfather's presence, the lack of Antonio, his best friend since they were bloody _six_, was what caused Arthur to ultimately screw up in one of the most vital parts of the song as he wondered where he was.

'_He won't come and see you; he doesn't care about you or your stupid piano anymore. He wants to stay with those wankers who party all day and all night…'_

The mistake was so huge and noticeable, that the singer stopped her sentence and eventually, lost herself. One of the judges stopped the blonde from playing any further. Arthur buried his head in his hands, his face aflame and he could hear some sniggering coming from the others auditioning. The British boy was ashamed; he felt that he dishonoured and embarrassed his grandfather.

However, the old man was just as proud of his grandson as before. He had an arm around Arthur's shoulder, praised him of a job well done and comforted him that there would be other times. It made the blonde feel a little bit better.

But only just a little bit.

The next day, Arthur refused to speak or acknowledge Antonio. This greatly confused the Spaniard. He eventually caught Arthur at the library where the blonde had a physics text book and asked why Arthur was avoiding him.

"H-huh? That was yesterday?" Antonio was horrified; he thought it was next week!

"It _was_," Arthur spat, his voice filled with venom. "And guess what? I screwed it up! I caused _such_ a hugescrew-up that the singer even stopped and lost her own cue! Ha! How about that? I screwed up and this could've very well been my big break! I embarrassed myself in front of my grandfather! I looked like a complete twit!"

"_A-Arturo_…I…"

"And _you_…" Arthur stabbed a finger at the Spaniard. "You bloody wanker! You promised you would come watch and what do I hear? You went to some damn party instead with those damned hooligans and made out with some daft bimbo!"

"Those damned hooligans are my friends, too!" Antonio said defensively. "And Emma's not a daft bimbo! You don't have the right to speak so badly about them! I know you're upset, but…I'm so sorry…I'm sorry I forgot about that, but that doesn't mean you can be mean towards everybody else. They're my friends, too."

"_They're _your friends?" Arthur was growing red in the face. "What am I then? The one you go to when you're so bored? Your bloody second choice? I've had enough of you being such an irresponsible and unreliable git! _I _go to all of your soccer games and yet you can't come to this _one_ little thing that's important to me? We're done here! I hope I never see your moronic face again!"

Antonio was at a loss of words after hearing that. By the time he brought himself back to reality, Arthur was storming away, cursing him. The Spaniard tried to bring him back, but every time, Arthur would get out of his grip and ignore him.

That Brit was much stronger than he looked.

After they had fallen out, though Antonio had so much fun with Gilbert and Francis, he afterwards felt so empty. His insides were writhing horribly and he soon became very lost, despite knowing his location.

Soon, the Spaniard began to wear away as he missed Arthur. He missed the blonde with his cynical, yet realistic view of the world. He missed how Arthur was so reliable and honest with him. He missed how Arthur toughened him up and said words of advice that _actually _worked.

But most of all, Antonio missed hearing Arthur play.

Arthur didn't seem to want to play at school anymore; he reserved himself in the library instead. The blonde was studying hard and when he had nothing to do, read books on mythology and creatures of fantasy instead.

Antonio wanted to make it up to the British boy, but he didn't know what he could do to prove that he truly was sorry for forgetting such an important day. After all, it wasn't fair that Arthur had attended everything that was important to Antonio, yet the Spaniard couldn't be assed to go to just one thing that had meant so much to the Brit. But, what could Antonio do?

The answer eventually came when a very important soccer game was coming up.

Antonio insisted that he not play for this game, causing uproar amongst his fellow teammates and coach. He instead allowed a Dutch student by the name of Lars to play in his place. Lars was a reserved player due to the fact that he had been sick that day but was recommended by his sister, the blonde Belgian girl who Antonio had done affectionate actions with. Everyone was very reluctant to let Lars play; they never saw him play before and Antonio _was _their best player.

Needless to say, Arthur was shocked upon seeing Antonio at his front step. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" demanded the British boy. "Shouldn't you be at a game right now?"

Antonio shook his head, "They'll be fine – Lars is taking my place."

"Lars, really? But then, why would you…?"

The Spaniard flashed his sunny smile, "Couldn't I spend time with my best friend?"

The pair made great conversation, one included Antonio asking why Arthur was reading books of fantasy; the British boy revealed he had a fixation with them and wanted to know more. After a spot of tea, Arthur then stood up and played a piece on the piano.

It was a much softer piece; starting innocently with notes on a higher octave. However, they began to crescendo and the notes were on a lower octave, growing stronger and more certain as Arthur's skilful fingers continued. The pace was constant, yet also wondering.

By the end of the song, Antonio found that his eyes were slightly moist; he was embarrassed by this – a man doesn't cry, but Arthur was more shocked than anything else.

"A-ah! _Lo siento_, it's just…" Antonio gave a laugh as he wiped at his eye. "I really missed hearing you play…"

Arthur bit his lip, "You could just listen to Roderich…"

"It's not the same."

Needless to say, the bond between Antonio and Arthur was fixed again. The days passed on by and life was just like a rollercoaster with its ups and downs.

For instance, the day they returned to school the next day, it turned out that Lars was actually a very skilful player – on par with Antonio with being a striker, plus he was a great goalie. They won their match and Lars was very proud of it; finally feeling great that he wasn't being overshadowed by _'that bastard, Antonio.'_

Francis had to eventually return back to his home in Paris while the boy he exchanged with returned. Also, Gilbert had signed up for the army upon graduation, meaning that his contact with Antonio would be slim.

Antonio's new friends were leaving him.

The Spaniard was clearly distraught at losing the both of them, but Arthur simply stood by and let him grieve. Using words of comfort and a pat on the head and back now and then, Antonio was eventually comforted.

Despite these big ups and downs, Arthur and Antonio were able to pull through each and every one of them. Just the two of them.

Unfortunately, an event happened that caused great pain, leaving scars that wouldn't heal in a short time.

It was two years after graduation and Arthur had come upstairs to give some tea to his grandfather. He gently called the old man several times, seeing him asleep on his bed. However, when he made his calls louder and his grandfather didn't answer, Arthur panicked. He checked a pulse or for signs of breath.

There were none.

Antonio came straight away as soon as he heard, but alas, the old man had finally resigned himself to bed and peacefully passed away in his sleep.

Arthur was a mess – his eyes were bloodshot, his face was deathly pale, his frame was shaking and it seemed like he couldn't run out of tears. His hands gripping his messy blonde tresses so tightly that the knuckles were white and Antonio was afraid that the British man would try to rip his hair out from the roots.

The Spaniard tried his hardest to comfort his best friend, and came over every day to provide as company now that Arthur was truly alone in the house. His mother dead and his father had his siblings who refused him in their home.

Arthur though seemed to get worse as the days passed – he was getting thinner and paler. His blonde hair lost its yellow gold hue, becoming a much limper mass and weaker colour. He no longer cried, but now his eyes were completely hollow; now empty green shells.

It wasn't until after the funeral when Antonio saw Arthur near the piano again.

The blonde stared at the keys, his eyes, those emerald orbs that used to burn with such huge flames of resolve and obstinacy, were now gone. The British man seemed to be looking at something that wasn't in the Spaniard's line of view.

Arthur stroked the keys of the piano, seemingly in thought, running them up and down without a sound, until finally, his fingers stopped at particular key. Then, with the slightest of touches, he played a single note that was barely above a whisper.

_A, the usual minor chord._

"_Arturo_…?"

Without another word, the British man went upstairs, into his room, and quietly closed the door behind him.

Following from that, Arthur never played the piano again and didn't exit his home either. At least, not in Antonio's view; for all he knew, Arthur might have gone out to buy himself food while he wasn't there. Arthur never responded and he seemed to be working mechanically each day – doing the same routine of eating, reading and sleeping over and over, day in and day out.

Antonio visited every day to ensure that his best friend wouldn't do something drastic. He tried coaxing Arthur to come outside and join him rather than stay inside like a hermit. However, after Antonio's suggestions, the blonde would slowly turn his gaze towards him, stay silent (seemingly contemplating) and finally either turned his eyes back to whatever held his attention before or simply got up and walked away.

The Spaniard was dismayed at seeing the British man act in such a defeated manner, but what could he do? He could only be there for Arthur until he got better. But when _would_ he feel better?

'_Oh _Arturo_…'_ Antonio sighed as he was back in the present, still trudging along the path to his destination. _'It has been almost half a year, yet you live on like this…I know it must be hard to lose your _abuelo _like that_, pero…_I don't like seeing you like this. I miss how you were; I miss you swearing at me in those weird British words of yours…'_

_**I miss hearing you play…**_

Antonio could still hear those pieces playing in his mind – those beautiful melodies of many variations; melancholic or joyful, fast or sad, proud or soft…all of them would forever haunt the Spaniard's mind. He could still hear the dance-like melody from the songs, fluttering by, eventually forming into a waltz in the cold air.

'_Ay Dios mio…'_ the Spaniard thought to himself. _'I can still hear them play…'_

But when he opened his eyes, Antonio stopped in his tracks, realizing that something was amiss.

'_Huh? Wait a minute…'_

There was the sound of a piano, its melody the exact one that was playing in Antonio's mind just moments ago. His eyes widened as he could hear them again.

'_Am I…am I dreaming?'_

Antonio blinked then pinched himself, hard. The Spaniard gave a slight yelp from his action but found that no, he wasn't asleep. At the expense of a spot on his hand that was now a sore red, he discovered that the sound of the piano was real, but then…wouldn't that mean…?

He dashed the rest of the way to his destination. He peered through the window and finally entered the door, his jaw dropped as he was astonished by the sight before him.

Arthur, clad in his pale blue bathrobe, was playing on his grandfather's beloved piano.

The beautiful music danced in the air again and soon, Antonio closed his jaw as he watched the blonde man play.

Everything was there again – the crescendo, the soft notes fluttering, the change of pace…it was all there! It finally came back! Arthur was playing again! Antonio couldn't help the smile that spread out across his face as he continued listening to the music his best friend was producing from his still strong and skilful fingers.

Arthur himself had his eyes closed as he was concentrating hard, his fingers flowing so delicately on the ivory keys, occasionally tapping the black ones. He poured his emotions into that piece as he played, his soul seemed to be crying out with the piano as its voice, at first in pain, but then, it began to grow softer and much calmer, as if finally pondering with understanding.

Suddenly, a myriad of chromatics sailed in a loud gusto and made an abrupt stop, startling Antonio slightly. Then all of a sudden, there was a softer ending on a major key, making the piece sound hopeful rather than melancholic as it was thought of before.

The Spaniard smiled, his eyes growing moist. He approached the blonde and stood by his side. "_Arturo_…" he breathed. "That was beautiful…"

The British man opened his eyes, craned his head around and was met by Antonio's warm smile. The blonde cleared his throat and rubbed the side of his head, "Well, I guess…I suppose it was. Thank you…"

Antonio looked at the keys, noticing that they still had specks of dust on them, but were nonetheless becoming clean again. He gazed back at the British man and asked in a calm and gentle voice lined with care, "Why now?"

To his surprise, Arthur didn't snap or ignore the question. Instead, the blonde placed a hand on the piano's keys as he explained, "I don't know actually…I just…it was just there and I couldn't help it. Then I started playing and for once I felt…I felt as if grandfather was right there. Right there beside me…watching me play…"

Antonio could see that the British man's eyes were shining slightly and a small smile spread onto his face. "Though it still hurts that he's gone; he was the only one in the family who ever truly cared about me after mumsy passed away, I realize that whenever I play…he's just right there. He will be there. Always…"

The Spaniard rubbed the blonde's shoulder as Arthur gave a small hum; his friend, after going through a state of hurt and sorrow, was finally back with him. "I'm glad you have found your love again," Antonio said.

"Indeed," Arthur gave a chuckle. "I'm glad, too. In fact, I feel like playing anything right now. I think…I think I'll be okay, old chap. I supposed I must thank you, too. Thank you…for always being there, too."

Antonio couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "_Arturo_! _Mi amigo_, you're back!" he almost crushed the British man in a bear-hug.

This of course, warranted a choking gasp from the blonde, "Anthony! Stop that! You'll break my sodding rib and I can't bloody breathe…!"

"Let's celebrate! I'll go make us some dinner!" and with that, the Spaniard scrambled to the kitchen to prepare a lovely meal for the two of them, chucking his bag onto the stuffy, leather couch.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Don't hurt yourself on the way, you git!" however, he couldn't help the smile that creased onto his face. He searched around the house for any of his old piano books, scouring through cupboards and shelves. He was able to find a good number of them in the house. As he walked to the cabinet to check, he accidentally knocked Antonio's bag over.

The blonde quickly put it back in place, but saw a piece of paper flutter onto the floor. It looked like an explosion of colour painted it. He carefully picked it up and read the contents. He was greatly interested at what the paper's contents contained.

When Antonio had finished cooking and dinner was being served at the simple mahogany table, Arthur chose that time to ask his close friend about what he had found. "Anthony, old chap, care to tell me what this is?" the blonde handed the piece of paper over to him.

The Spaniard blinked and looked questioningly at the paper, his cheeks slightly bulging from the paella he created. He swallowed and smiled radiantly at the British man, "Oh! The kids at school are going to perform in a choir!"

"A choir?"

"_Si_! We're having a cultural festival in a month's time and everyone in the grade I'm teaching is thinking of doing a performance that shows off their culture!" Antonio looked as excited as the eager child he was years ago. Arthur couldn't help but be amused by this.

"I see; sounds interesting. I'd love to watch it."

"You know…" Antonio cut off, somewhat unsure, but shook his head and continued; now appearing sheepish. "We could really use a pianist. A skilful one…j-just…just letting you know…"

There was a moment's silence as the blonde stared at the brunette man sitting across from him, his face turned impassive. For a moment, Antonio felt his heart sink and he was worried that he had finally said something to set Arthur off again ir upset him. However, to the Spaniard's surprise, Arthur didn't snap at him, ignore him or walk away from him.

In fact, there was a twinkle in the blonde's once emptied green eyes – they were now shining a bit brighter and seemed to burn with a fire. The fire was a small one, nothing at all like the huge blaze from long ago, but it was there nonetheless. The British man ate a spoonful of paella as he closed his eyes, looking rather content. He shrugged.

"You know what? I would jolly well love to, dove. I really would, actually."

* * *

Hello there, all; HetaWriter/HetaReader here. I am honoured to share with you this short story. It's the first one I've ever submitted here. Despite it being the first, I don't want anyone to go easy with their **constructive **criticisms. This is an AU by the way, and in this particular AU, Arthur and Antonio are actually close friends. Arthur's grandfather can be a male Britannia (I heard she was female though).

It does hurt when you lose someone so close to you. It helps when you have a friend to cheer you up, but ultimately know that _you're _the one who has to find that driving flame again.

Have a nice day, everyone. :DDD


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